


A New Dawn

by championofnone



Series: The Shepard Chronicles [4]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Depression, Destroy Ending, F/M, Gen, Post-Reaper War, Recovery, Shepard (Mass Effect) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2020-09-24 11:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/championofnone/pseuds/championofnone
Summary: Shepard didn't expect to survive. She still doesn't quite believe that she did.The living aftermath is harder amongst the uncertainties of a post-Reaper world.





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up: my Shep does have issues with hallucinating and hearing things, and she's very paranoid during her recovery. She signs somewhat but I'm absolutely not fluent in ASL so if I'm inaccurate in anything, I'm very sorry. It will get edited if I learn I'm wrong. If any of this bothers you, please keep that in mind before you proceed.

\+ Day 0

She couldn’t hear anything and couldn’t see much more than a vague canopy of something dark trapping her in place.

Everything hurt. She knew she’d been hit by Harbinger’s beam before she’d even reached the transport to the Citadel, had felt her armor melt into her skin and watched as pieces of it peeled off with every step she took. It wasn’t something she had time to pay attention to then.

Now? Now was different. She couldn’t move to catalogue her injuries, could barely think through the haze that pain created.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t expect to wake up again.

\+ Day 17

The rubble was shifting. She still can’t hear anything, but there’s a small beam of light breaking the monotony of the darkness. A large figure – it’s too blurry to make out who or what it is – peers down the hole, and more shadowy figures spring up out of nowhere at its bellow.

She hears Ashley’s voice coming from the Catalyst at her side, and lets herself fall to darkness again in the comfort of her poetry.

\+ Day 44

She blinked against the light, surprised she could make out that there was a ceiling above her, not just some unidentifiable rubble. She couldn’t move, limbs full of lead and her head full of cotton, pain the only thing she could register.

But she was alive.

Wasn’t that something?

\+ Day 60

For the first time since she began waking up, her head felt almost completely clear. Her hearing hadn’t fully returned yet and she had no voice, and sometimes everything around her was still blurry and everything was stiff, but she was awake.

Some nurse was at her side, adjusting an IV bag of antibiotics as Miranda checked her over yet again. “Your injuries are extensive, Shepard,” she said. “I know you weren’t fond of the cybernetics, but did you really have to burn them out of your nervous system?”

Carrine gave her a blank stare. It was hard to focus, and she was trying, but she didn’t have the energy to put up facial expressions just for the sake of doing so. The burns on her throat had damaged her voice box and her ability to eat, and the skin grafts along her right side had yet to fully take. She could finally move a little as long as she took it very slowly, and she turned her forearm over to check on her tattoos, ignoring the conversation between Miranda and the nurse. Parts of them had been singed off, she discovered, only some letters of the words remaining. Mindoir, Akuze, Alchera – she should probably add the Citadel to the list of places she’s died now, too.

Only parts of the letters remained. Only a few parts of her were still whole. There was something ironic about it.

Miranda had propped her up into a sitting position, taking advantage of the fact that Carrine couldn’t curse her out for treating her like a child. There was a metal brace along her entire right leg to her hip, a cast on her left, and her entire torso was bandaged and settled into a brace. She could feel more bandages wrapped around her head now that her hair was gone, but Miranda still hadn’t told her how bad the injuries were, and she knew nothing of the internal problems. Unable to use her voice and with limited use of her hands, Carrine couldn’t even use the little sign language Kaidan had taught her years ago, when his migraines were made worse by using his voice.

Nobody had even brought up the Normandy to her, and it wasn’t like she could ask. Miranda and her nurses were the only people who’d been near her that she’d seen since she was brought to the hospital, and they weren’t likely to give her any answers.

She hated biding her time.

\+ Day 75

“Shepard!”

The boom of Wrex’s voice was the first thing to bring a smile to her face since she’d woken up from her medical coma fifteen days ago. He barely fit into the room, but dragged another cot over to sit next to her regardless.

“Knew you’d make it out, you lucky varren.” She rolled her eyes at him, still unable to talk but incredibly glad to see a friendly face that wasn’t part of her medical team. It didn’t feel like a fake expression this time.

But this was Wrex. He’d give her an honest answer. She smacked his arm with her good one and pointed to the tablet at the foot of her bed that Miranda had left for her. He handed it over to her while going on about the krogan having to do all the heavy lifting in the recovery.

‘Where are they?’ she typed before shoving the tablet in his face.

His eyes narrowed. “What, the Normandy? They haven’t told you? Pyjaks,” he huffed, cracking his neck. “Your ship’s been MIA since you hit the Citadel. They’re nowhere in the system that anyone’s searched yet, so best guess is they hit the relay before it exploded.”

Her stomach dropped. No wonder no one had told her what had happened. ‘Damage?’

“Do I look like I know what damage your ship took, Shepard?”

She gave him a look, one that had brought several high-ranking officers to heel during the war, and he shrugged, waiting for her to continue. ‘To Earth. Relays. No news.’ Stretching her fingers to type even just that little bit burned, but she ignored it. She shook her head as she held it back out to him, clearing the whispers from her mind and the wisp at the edge of her vision. The image of the Catalyst was always trying to catch her full attention.

He looked at her critically for a moment before he answered. “The relays are gone. Whatever the Crucible did fried them completely. Everyone’s stranded here, my people, yours, turians, quarians. It’s a mess out there, Shepard. Good thing I’m here to yell at people since you’re taking a vacation in bed. They’ve been sending out search parties, rotating the ships still flight worthy every few days to check the sector. A few more have been brought in, but they’re mostly fighters or dreadnaughts, not your frigate.”

‘The Citadel?’ she asked. ‘Anderson?’

Wrex exhaled, sympathy on his scarred face. No. “Citadel’s gone, Shepard. It’s in pieces floating above Earth; they’re not sure how much can be put back together. One of the teams recovered Anderson’s body just before they found you.” Carrine’s expression must have betrayed her, but he continued. “Grunt was leading a recon team, called me when he found what looked like Citadel rubble. A lot of people had given up, but we knew you, Shepard.” He redirected himself from clapping her on the shoulder, settling for tapping on the side of her bed. “Seventeen days buried under that shit wasn’t gonna kill you of all people.”

‘How bad? No one will tell me.’

He shrugged. “I don’t know all the medical stuff, but it was bad. Some of the recovery team wanted to declare you dead right there; you _smelled_ dead, Shepard, and a krogan can smell death a mile away. Grunt wasn’t having it, knocked him out and brought you here himself. Wouldn’t accept your death as an answer.”

She smiled, the edges tugging on still healing skin. Good ol’ Grunt. But it left her wondering, why had Miranda refused to disclose how bad things were? She knew about the skin graft and the plating in her right leg, and her vision was slowly becoming normal again; the remaining damage wasn’t anything that a laser procedure couldn’t correct.

She’d have to talk to Miranda soon.

\+ Day 90

Her hands had recovered enough for her to start signing again, even though she was rusty and her left one remained stiff. Figures that the one _not_ on the burned side of her body had more problems. Miranda had sent someone by every day after she’d woken up to help her improve; her voice showed no sign of returning anytime soon. She couldn’t do anything complicated, but it was enough for her to be able to talk without the aid of a computer to those who knew phrases – she still struggled with individual letters – although she still had to when Wrex or anyone who couldn’t sign came by.

She’d finally cornered Miranda into giving her details on what happened during her coma. Nearly all of her cybernetics and her amp had been completely fried in the explosion, and their failure had led to almost total organ failure after the extremes her body was forced to endure upon re-entry to Earth, and that wasn’t even accounting for the damage from the blunt-force trauma she had taken in the final battle before they rushed the beam. The brain damage alone should have been catastrophic, but the amp and implants had taken the brunt of the damage. She’d had grafts and donor tissue implanted while in her coma, and Miranda was glad to report her body was taking them exceptionally well given the circumstances. It’s why she was still on IV antibiotics after such a long time.

Miranda honestly hadn’t expected her to survive, much less wake up mostly coherent after about two months. Carrine saw the moment she bit back calling her survival a miracle.

Carrine reminded her she won’t rest until she has the Normandy in her sights.

“Absolutely not,” Miranda said, cutting her off before she could get much steam. “There’s no way I’m letting you have medical clearance to help with any of the search parties.”

Her hand curled into a fist, the regrown skin tight from lack of use.. She’d been stuck in this bed for months now, and the restlessness was getting to be too much to bear. Hackett had ordered a team of psychologists to evaluate and help her, knowing her reckless streak, but what did any of them know? They didn’t know the hell she’d been through. She wanted her crew back in arm’s reach. She wanted to be better at ignoring the Catalyst that kept skirting into her peripheral vision. She wanted her gun.

“Shepard, you can’t even stand without support, much less handle being on a ship with only artificial gravity right now,” Miranda continued. “You haven’t even been able to complete a full round of physical therapy yet, and honestly I shouldn’t even let you be doing that much given how badly your leg was destroyed.” The reminder of her new knee and metal femur left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she could feel her biotics trying to come alive.

Miranda felt them at the same time. “Don’t do it, Shepard.”

‘Or what?’ she signed. ‘Going to lock me up? Tell me I’m a lost cause?’ She resisted the urge to raise her middle finger at Miranda.

“You need to recover, Shepard! We all know what you’re capable of, but you’ve given enough, you need to rest!”

_You’ve given enough_, the Catalyst whispered in her ear. Dammit. She didn’t have to look to know the transparent figure was somewhere to her right. _They don’t need you as their sacrifice anymore_.

‘Leave.’

“Shepard –”

‘Get out!’ She threw her water bottle in Miranda’s direction, but she was so weak it barely cleared the edge of the hospital bed. Miranda’s expression closed up as she turned to leave, hitting the lock as she stepped outside the room.

_They’d thought you were dead_, Ashley chimed in. _They would’ve left you to die. The sacrificial lamb, just like me. How does it feel, Shepard? To be left behind by those you trusted, to see them move on with their lives while you can’t?_

For the first time in years, she hung her head and cried.


	2. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard is starting to come to grips with the fact that she survived the Citadel explosion, but when has her path ever been easy?

\+ Day 113

Her hearing had improved to where she could make out that it was Miranda talking to one of the psychologists on the other side of her door some fifteen feet away. She’d been silent the entire time the psychologist tried talking to her during the appointment, her brown eyes warm and her tone perfectly kind and professional. But she couldn’t understand, and Shepard couldn’t explain.

How do you explain that you’d expected to die? That you’d accepted it? That you’d accepted that the cost of winning the war was your own life in exchange for preserving the lives of trillions, to prevent this tragedy from ever happening again? That the galaxy stopped seeing you as a person, that you’d become a tool, an instrument of war, the only one capable of putting the last piece of the puzzle into place?

How can you accept that there’s a future when you’d lost any hope of having one?

Why should she bother when nearly everyone she’s ever cared about is dead or missing? When Anderson died leaning on her shoulder? When Miranda won't give her an answer about her brother’s location, when the Normandy had been missing for four months without a trace to be had? When Kaidan wasn’t here?

Wrex couldn’t stop by often. The Alliance had struck an agreement with him, enlisting the krogan to get some of the rubble moving since most of the machinery was destroyed. He was the only one that could command enough respect among the stranded krogan to get the job done, and she wouldn't begrudge him that. Grunt had been banned from seeing her until she was more recovered, his enthusiasm too likely to result in injuring Carrine further. Talking to Miranda felt more clinical than it had when they barely liked each other, and Carrine was willing to bet she was trying not to say anything for "her own safety." The secrets went unsaid between them, and it left the air sour. Hackett couldn’t leave command in London, of what was left of HQ. They’d spoken through a comm link with a translator, but it wasn’t much, and he left her more in the dark than Miranda did. She was surrounded by red tape and confidential information and her new physical limitations.

She felt well and truly alone, her only frequent company in the shape of a transparent figure she wanted to beg her mind to forget. Sometimes it just looked like the Catalyst. Sometimes it imitated Ashley. It always used her voice. She wasn’t sure that it wasn’t real.

But it had her doubting that they’d won. What if the Catalyst had simply jumped ship, taking root somewhere in her brain instead of dying when the Crucible fired and the Reapers fell? Was she simply hallucinating, her mind too exhausted from the stress of war to keep up anymore? Had she been indoctrinated, like the Illusive Man had been? Would she slowly lose the little sanity she had left?

She had no answers to give when she was asked what happened. It sounded fantastical, even to herself, and she’d lived through it. She’d fired her Eagle straight into the heart of one of the pillars of the central chamber of the Crucible. She remembered the thick black smoke that had poured out as it primed itself to fire, the heat of the flames that felt like they would eat her alive.

Yet it was here, sitting where Wrex would when he stopped by, kicking its feet as if it were an actual child. It wasn’t always here. She’d blink and it would be gone, making her doubt it was there in the first place.

Miranda had ordered for her to not have frequent visitors, citing that it would cause more undue stress than Carrine’s recovery could handle. It’s not like anyone would believe her if she brought up the hallucinations, anyways. She’d just have to deal with it.

Just like she’s always dealt with everything else. Alone.

\+ Day 127

Miranda looked at her, concern creasing her brow. Carrine gave her a blank look in return. She didn’t have the energy to fake any kind of pleasantries today, not after a day of physical therapy for her knee.

“Dr. Amal has indicated several times that you’re showing signs of depression, Shepard,” she said carefully, “but that you’re refusing to talk about anything. We can’t help you if you don’t cooperate.”

Carrine looked away from her, staring unseeingly at the wall. She didn’t want to have this conversation. She felt useless more days than not, and they made sure she didn’t have access to anything that would let her be productive, so all she had was to sit with her thoughts. With that stupid fucking hallucination interrupting her every few hours.

“Shepard.”

She returned her attention to Miranda, who now looked even more concerned. For the first time, she could really see the bags under the other woman’s eyes and wondered just how little sleep she was actually getting.

“When was the last time you slept through the night?”

She would’ve laughed if she’d been able to. She settled for giving Miranda the sharpest grin she could manage. She doubted it was much. ‘Before Lazarus,’ she signed. 

Miranda sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, small strands poking out around her neck, unusually untidy. “Shepard, honestly. I’m worried about you.”

Carrine stared at her, blank look unchanging. Big words for someone creating her restrictions. ‘Why?’

“‘Why?’” Miranda looked a bit alarmed. “Shepard – Carrine, you’re my friend, of course I’m worried about you. You aren’t sleeping, sometimes I don’t think you even notice when other people are in the room, you go catatonic for hours at a time, and you haven’t even tried to make a sound. You don’t eat anything, you don’t even try arguing for arguing’s sake. You aren’t acting like yourself.”

‘Why bother?’ she barely had the energy to sign, but if she didn’t, Miranda would drag out the tablet. She’d rather do this herself before that gets taken away from her too.

“Why bo – Shepard. I need you to answer me honestly.” She approached the bed, being careful to avoid jostling Carrine as she sat down. “Do you wish you’d died in the explosion?”

_Right to the point, huh? _Now was a really bad fucking time for the stupid Catalyst to pop its head up. She glanced over, hearing the smugness in its voice. _Guess she knows you were the sacrifice after all._

“Shepard, please focus,” Miranda said quietly, dragging Carrine’s attention back to the furrow in the other woman’s brow. “Do you wish you hadn’t survived?”

_Be honest,_ Carrine chided herself. Her bitterness will not help here, no matter how much she wants to let it show. So slowly, haltingly, she nodded.

A shuddered breath left Miranda, and she closed her eyes tightly. “I’m so sorry. All these months and – I haven’t been helping you at all. _This_ isn’t helping you at all.”

Carrine didn’t reply, turning her gaze to the corner of the bed. What can you say to that? Miranda had been right. She wasn’t strong enough to be on the search teams, the Alliance didn’t want news of her survival being out because she’d be swarmed by the media, and news about recovered ships was kept only to the top brass and the next of kin of the crews. The hallucinations haunted her in her waking hours, the screams in her nightmares kept her awake. Her friends were dead or missing, she had nothing to go off of about Ian, Anderson was dead, and people had better things to do than coddle a broken soldier.

‘You’ve had better things to do,’ she eventually replied.

“Shepard, no,” Miranda argued, but Carrine held up a hand to cut her off. She swallowed her pride and reached for the tablet.

‘No. My part’s done. I did my job, and the world has to keep going. Everyone can move on now that I’ve done what needed to be done. Harbinger is dead. The Reapers are gone. That was what Hackett told me to do – get it done, no matter the cost, and it was my life on the price tag.’

“And what would your crew do if they lost you, Shepard?” she argued. “You were the only thing that held that crew together, each and every one of them would die for you. When – when Cerberus was monitoring you, they watched your crew, too. Alenko especially put himself in the line of fire to cover you more often than not. After you went down, they were all tagged as people of interest, but when they scattered…he was the only one that didn’t move on in some way. One of the operatives on the Citadel kept tabs on him under the Illusive Man’s orders. I don’t think he was kidding when he said your death destroyed him on Horizon, Shepard.” She looked up, waiting until Carrine’s gaze met hers again before pushing on. “Why did you hold on, Shepard? You survived under that rubble for seventeen days with no food, no water, holding on to life with fragments of a thread. Why did you hold on?”

Her last conversation with Kaidan flickered through her mind, hands gripping hands tightly as they spoke with their heads down, noses brushing together, the grime and sweat unimportant as they clung to each other. “_I’ll be waiting for you_,” he’d said, “_and you’d better show up. I can’t lose you again_.”

‘I promised I’d show up,’ she replied, ‘but I woke up to everyone gone. No one’s here now. They have their own lives to fix, no one has time for this.’ She gestured at herself, mostly at her damaged leg and scarred torso. She still hadn’t seen her face, had no idea what the damage looked like aside from the hair that was just starting to grow back in. ‘No one needs the sacrifice that survived the impossible.’

Miranda stared at her, horror written across her features, unable to keep up a professional veneer. “Shepard, is that what you think you are? Just someone we threw to the wolves and abandoned?” She didn’t get a response as Carrine continued to stare blankly at her. “That’s not – no.”

‘I’ve been in here alone for months. Wrex and Hackett are leading recovery and reconstruction. I’m not whole enough to do anything. No one outside of this hospital knows I’m even alive. I don’t have a purpose anymore. I should’ve just –’

Miranda grabbed her hands, stopping her from continuing. “Don’t, Shepard. I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry_.”

Carrine blinked, frowning in confusion at the choke in Miranda’s voice. Sorry for what? She'd done her job.

“We – I failed you. I’ve done this wrong. You deserve better than this.” She released Carrine’s hands in order to bring up her omnitool, sending off a message to somewhere. “Tomorrow is going to be different. I’m not going to leave you to this fight alone, Shepard. Not anymore.”

Carrine wanted to believe her, but hope was a dangerous thing, and she’d learned to let go of it a long time ago.

\+ Day 137

Miranda had kept her word. She’d found a wheelchair somewhere in the hospital, and helped Carrine down into it. Her leg had to be extended, the muscle not recovered enough to give her any flexibility. Requisitioning it had taken some time, but Miranda eventually got her way.

The first thing Carrine demanded was an in-person meeting with Hackett. She’d been found near Williams Lake in Canada, across the globe from where she’d last been on Earth. They’d gotten her to a hospital in Vancouver, but the city was barely functioning. Trying to organize for Hackett to get there had been a challenge, but he’d agreed to come as soon as he could.

Miranda had found a jacket loose enough for her to wear, and a blanket served to cover the rest of her body. Nothing would fit over the brace on her leg, and tight clothing would only have irritated the healing skin grafts. She refused to let Miranda fully cover the bandages or clean them up – she wanted Hackett to see exactly what she’d been through, protocol and decorum be damned.

She’d been the sacrifice. Everyone who saw her would have to live with seeing the carnage rejection offered in return.

They arrived at the small hospital conference room, soldiers stationed at either end of the hallway and one of Wrex’s scouts guarding the door itself. Hackett looked like he’d aged ten years since she’d last seen him, and she’d bet she didn’t look much better. He stood as soon as they entered, extending his hand out to Carrine. She shook it as well as she could, ignoring her anger at how weak she was.

“I’ve got to say,” he started, “you look like hell, Commander.”

‘So do you, sir,’ she signed. She could get out a few sounds, but her voice was nowhere near well enough to speak yet, and she was too angry to use her voice on this meeting.

“I’m a bit rusty on my sign language, Commander. I had a tablet brought in in case there are any problems communicating if Miss Lawson cannot translate clearly enough for you.” She nodded in acceptance as he looked her over. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

‘I almost wasn’t. Long way to go.’

“The fact that you’re looking at me like you want to strangle something tells me enough, Shepard. If you’re angry, you’re alive to be angry.”

She paused. Was she really that easily read? Or maybe he just considered to be as old of a soldier as he was, now. It was a disconcerting thought.

“So. What can I do for you, Commander?” he asked, shaking her from her thoughts.

Miranda pulled up her omnitool, opening the list she and Carrine had created. “In order for Shepard to properly recover, I believe it is in her best interest to open her to contact outside the hospital, and possibly assist in the recovery efforts. I would also like to retract the visitor ban and allow news of her survival to be made public.”

Hackett mulled over the requests. “I don’t think outside contact is going to be the best idea, Commander. You haven’t seen how chaotic things have been. I have no problems with the visitation as long as a guard is present.”

“That could easily be myself or one of Wrex’s scouts,” Miranda offered. “Or any Alliance officer trustworthy enough.”

Carrine stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She hated the idea of having a guard, but her biotics were to stay offline until she was healthy enough for a new amp to be installed, and it’s not like she could aim a gun. ‘Let me help.’

“You’re not going to be out moving rubble, Shepard, and we’re not going to put you on PR. You’ve done enough.”

Carrine snarled, all but baring her teeth at him; he didn’t react. She hated that line. She snatched up the tablet, too angry to make her hands work properly. ‘I’m not some useless soldier, sir. I can listen to a fucking QEC radio for transmissions at the least.’

Hackett kept his expression neutral at her insubordination. “I’m going to ignore your tone, Shepard. I still don’t think it’s a good idea. QEC is barely back online and we only have two comm buoys working in the Sol system right now, they’re taxed to capacity as it is. I need them monitored for all traffic, not just for the Normandy.”

She bristled, and Miranda placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder. “With all due respect, Admiral, I believe being unable to do anything has been worse for Shepard’s mental health than any kind of taxation could possibly be. While she would certainly be hoping to hear from the Normandy, I sincerely doubt that Shepard would just pass over a hail from any ship seeking safety.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said, but it sounded like a no. “How public do you want to be about your recovery? Full media, a press conference, or just Alliance officers and surviving Council diplomats?”

She hadn’t thought he’d actually agree to that part and shrugged in response. Miranda took over for her. “A media statement would be enough for right now until we can gauge the public’s reaction. If it’s enthusiastic and Shepard is healthy enough, we’ll see about a press conference. I’m not going to risk putting her in any more danger.”

“I don’t think it will put her in danger, but that’s why I’m going to assign a guard to her room,” Hackett said. “People are desperate. They want answers why their sons and daughters are missing, why the Reapers seemed to just fall over after the Crucible fired. People are going to be cruel about this, Commander. The aftermath is never pretty.” He looked at her, studying for her reaction. “Can you handle it?”

Carrine nodded. She needed a purpose, she felt lost without one.

She didn’t see the Catalyst that day.

\+ Day 150

The Alliance had issued a statement to every remaining journalist they could find, and feedback had been pouring in over the headline.

_Shepard Lives_. Two simple words centered over her military ID photo, followed by an entire issue dedicated to her survival and recovery progress - what wasn't classified, that is - and with all the names of ships and their crews known to still be missing. She insisted that they be listed, because she was going to find a way to fight for them. Everyone still alive deserved to come home. It gave her a purpose, something to focus on, and if she kept herself occupied, the Catalyst wasn’t as frequent a visitor and was easier to ignore when it did show up.

The public was overjoyed. She couldn’t believe it. She had expected most of them to be angry at her for surviving the impossible when so many had lost their children, their parents, their aunts and uncles and friends, but they’d welcomed the story of her survival with open arms.

She was also going to be allowed her first visitors. A few officers that helped lead the Fifth Fleet and the asari and quarian fleets were already scheduled to stop by, all with strict visitation time limits enforced by Miranda. She was nervous, but it was good to feel something other than the apathy and disappointment that she’d survived. Her psychologist wasn’t happy that she refused medication, but agreed that the busy-work was a good enough temporary solution.

Two civilians had requested visitation for her, which she noted were both personally flagged by Hackett. He’d be accompanying them himself, not sending them in with one of his officers. Given how limited his time was before he had to return in London, she couldn't see why they warranted a high-level escort.

“That’s unusual,” Miranda noted. “It doesn’t list their names, either.” Carrine shrugged. What could a civilian really do, surrounded by military personnel and against Miranda?

The traffic wound down in the early afternoon, and Hackett knocked on the door shortly after the sun began to lower itself, entering with two women behind him. Carrine’s heart sank as she recognized one of them.

“Commander,” Hackett said. “I’ve brought a Miss Tarah Shepard and a Mrs. Lana Alenko here upon request.”

Miranda’s hand covered her mouth in surprise. Carrine’s eyes hadn’t shifted from Kaidan’s mother the moment she stepped into the room. The woman’s eyes were lined with fatigue and worry, hair as dark as his swept into a neat braid that went with her crisp attire, the scarf wrapped around her shoulders showing only a little of the dust that was still falling outside.

“Shepard,” she began, but Carrine couldn’t stop herself.

“Sorry,” she croaked, voice cracked and bruised with damage and disuse, tears threatening to spill over, all completely out of her control. The emotions hit her like a dreadnought, and she had no hope of stopping the onslaught. “I – _sorry_.”

Lana stepped around Hackett, sweeping her into a tight hug. Carrine clung to her shoulder for dear life, and let her tears fall.

She faintly heard Hackett had stepping out, ushering a complaining Tarah Shepard out with him. Miranda stayed nearby, just outside of the door that was left propped open, trying to give them some privacy.

“It’s alright, Shepard,” she whispered, tears evident in her own voice as she stepped back. “He’d be so happy to know you’re alive.”

Carrine just shook her head. She’d been pushing the Normandy out of her thoughts as much as she could, knowing that if she dwelled on the fact that she might never see Kaidan again it would break her. But here stood his mother, someone who held the exact same fear she did. Someone who would understand if she could actually make herself talk about it.

It had been years since they'd seen each other. She’d gone with Kaidan to his family’s home once during shore leave after the Battle of the Citadel, and she’d been nervous and awkward the entire time, mostly bonding with their dog or staying near Kaidan. But Lana and her husband, Charles, had welcomed her into their home and never once made a note of her awkwardness.

But Charles was gone now. She’d been monitoring the names of soldiers found, and she’d seen an Alenko pop up on a list of the deceased only a few days ago, just before news of her own survival was announced. Her heart broke seeing it, but there was nothing she could do, that the MIA Kaidan had feared had the worst outcome imaginable. And now, Kaidan might be –

No. He promised he’d come back to her, that she wouldn’t have to know what life would be like without him. She had to put her faith in him in to come home to her.

Lana straightened up, wiping tears from her own face before taking one of the chairs across from Carrine. “Hackett said you hadn’t recovered your voice yet, Commander.”

Carrine tapped her arm to get her attention. ‘I haven’t,’ she signed. ‘That…was the first time since I’ve woken up that I’ve spoken.’ And her throat was aching because of it, but she wouldn’t admit that.

The worry lines eased somewhat as she watched Carrine, replaced with something pained and warm. “He told me, years ago, that you’d asked him to teach you to sign because of the migraines. I’m so –” she stopped for a moment, gathering herself before she continued. “I’m sorry, Shepard. I keep bringing Kaidan up. It’s torture not having any news.”

‘I know.’

“Someone came by to tell me about Charles, and it was all I could do to keep hoping my boy’s name wouldn’t show up on a list of the deceased. Then your name showed up in the headlines, and – well, I know what you meant to him. If he can’t be here, I can be. I’m guessing you could use a friend.”

Carrine blinked. She hadn’t talked to Lana much all those years ago, but she was seeing how much Kaidan took after her. She cared in the same way that Kaidan did, and she missed him so much in that moment she wanted to cry again. Her emotions were a roiling ocean, and she was lost how to navigate it. 

‘I could,’ she replied, forcing herself to pull together, ‘but…why? So much work needs to be done yet. It could have waited.’ She wasn't sure what Lana did, exactly, but the badge she wore under her scarf was an essential infrastructure employee. She was undoubtedly as busy as Hackett.

“Shepard, I’m going to tell you a story,” she began, ignoring Carrine's question. “When Kaidan was posted to the SR1 so many years ago, I got a message from him. He was incredibly excited to be serving under you and Anderson. Three weeks later, I get a very panicked call about you and a Prothean beacon and him being an impulsive idiot. He hung up on me and called back an hour later because you had woken up. I hadn't seen him react so strongly, so protectively, over someone in ages, and I started wondering what you were like. Everything about you was classified, but if my son thought so highly of you, you must be someone with merit. I got a few messages here and there, but I didn’t hear much until I got a vid-call months later. My heart stopped seeing him in a med-bay, still in armor and covered with soot. He told me what he could about Virmire, and he felt guilty that he was relieved he survived, and ashamed that he wanted to survive more than he was willing to put his life on the line. Do you know why, Shepard?”

Her throat was tight as she nodded. She remembered that argument with Kaidan. It wasn’t a happy memory.

Lana continued. “I didn’t hear from him again until I saw coverage of the Citadel being attacked and saw the Normandy’s involvement in the battle, then he calls me a day later and says he’s bringing his commanding officer home with him come shore leave. But watching you two around each other, even if you didn’t realize it then, you had something. When the Normandy was lost and you went down with it, I’d never seen him so heartbroken, not even after BAaT. Part of him went down with you that day, Shepard, I hope you know that.” She did. God, did she know, and she hated herself for it. “I finally got him to be up and around the house for a little bit one day after he’d drank himself to sleep again, and I remember him looking at me with these horribly hollow eyes and asking me why it was you who died and not him.”

Carrine closed her eyes, her chest tight with pain. Kaidan hadn’t told her this, she didn’t want to know that her death had caused him that kind of pain. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked, her hands shaking.

“So that you understand why I’m here. He loves you enough that he would have rather died than survive losing you. He called me from the Citadel before all this, you know, from some fancy apartment’s bedroom.” The apartment on the Strip, she'd bet. “He was so excited to show me his first tattoo, a set of initials on his ring finger that I was eagerly told had a match on another hand.”

Carrine automatically offered her hand to Lana, the black ink of Kaidan’s initials in his handwriting stark against her skin. Lana smiled sadly. “I figured as much. He was never one for rules once he found something more important to him.”

‘So this is for Kaidan?’

Lana sighed. “In a way. Shepard, I know what you meant to my son. It’s – forgive me, I know it’s selfish, but I needed to know what he meant to you. Your reaction told me everything I needed.”

‘He promised me,’ Carrine said. ‘He promised he’d come home.’

Lana smiled at her, eyes a bit watery again. “It’s a good thing he never breaks a promise, then.”

\+ Day 151

“I am her AUNT, the only other living family she HAS, you can NOT keep me out of that room!”

Carrine groaned. Tarah Shepard had been told yesterday to leave, as Lana had stayed late to talk with Shepard and she was exhausted afterwards. It wasn’t an answer the woman was pleased with.

Miranda stood guard on the side of Carrine’s bed that faced the door. She was able to bend her left leg enough to give her balance while sitting, but her right remained in a brace, and Miranda was concerned her aunt would get physical. Lana wouldn’t be back to visit for a few days, trying to reestablish order within the international bank she worked for, and Tarah had demanded visitation.

Carrine understood why her father had wanted nothing to do with his sister, now. And only living family? Please. Ian had finally contacted Miranda late the previous night – he was alive, just not somewhere with any signal strength. But he was safe and alive and it was more than she expected. It was all she needed.

Tarah finally got through the door, her heels making an irritating clacking sound against the tile floor. Her dirty blonde hair – the only thing they had in common – was pulled up into a high ponytail, clearly annoyed that her demands had not been immediately met. She looked disdainfully at the chair she sat in. “Carrine?”

Carrine stared at her dryly. ‘It’s Shepard.’

Tarah rolled her eyes. “Sure, okay. I knew bad things were going to happen as soon as Jason moved off-world, but what do I ever know. Mom knew, too. Too bad she died when the Reapers followed you here.”

Carrine blinked. She wants to jump right into this? Seriously? ‘Did you just come here to complain to me or did you actually want something?’

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” she sighed, pretending she hadn’t understood Carrine a moment ago. “Can’t you speak yet?”

“No, she can’t,” Miranda snapped. “Considering the extensive burns she received, her voice has not yet recovered, and I’m not going to push her progress to cater to your arrogance and misplaced sense of entitlement.” Tarah scowled at her, but Miranda wasn’t one to back down. “I can translate if you require it. She asked why you came here.”

“Because I’m her only other surviving family? Someone has to take care of her, I guess.”

Carrine’s blood boiled, feeling the burn of her biotics trying to come back online whether she wanted them to or not. 

“Shepard,” Miranda warned, shooting a glance at her. “That won’t be necessary, Tarah. Her brother is still alive, and he is higher priority as next of kin than you are.”

“She’s in a wheelchair and she can’t talk, what good is she doing right now anyways?”

The table nearby toppled over, causing Tarah to jump back in alarm and Miranda to immediately turn her focus on Carrine. The blue shimmer of her aura was sparking, the uncontrolled biotics struggling against her will. “Shepard, focus on me.” Miranda forced her own biotics over Carrine’s to prevent them from lashing out again, keeping herself calm as Carrine did her best to put hers in tune with Miranda’s.

She hated doing this with anyone but Kaidan. She’d had to merge her biotics with Miranda before, back when she had no idea how to control them even with an amp, but without one they were very dangerous, and she was fragile enough as it is.

She shook her head as she heard the Catalyst for the first time in days. _Can’t even manage this much, can you? Should’ve just given up._

_Fuck **off**_, she thought, taking a deep breath as she finally felt herself begin to calm down.

Miranda released the barrier as she stepped back from Carrine. “Better?” She nodded in response as Tarah stared at her.

“What the hell was that?”

Miranda all but rolled her eyes as she put herself between them. “Shepard is a biotic. If you’re going to do nothing but aggravate her, I’m going to suggest that you leave.”

Tarah seemed to bite her tongue for the first time since she’d arrived. “Do you even care that pretty much everyone else is dead, Carrine?”

_This is why you should be dead, too_, the Catalyst helpfully supplied.

Carrine grit her teeth, ignoring it. ‘I can’t go back and change Mindoir, Tarah. I can’t help some family member that I’ve never even spoken to before, much less someone that didn’t even care that I existed.’ Miranda translated as she signed. ‘All Dad ever told me was that you and his parents didn’t agree with him when he and Mom decided to take up the Alliance’s offer of a colony home. I wasn’t even born yet – how could I have argued?’

“Your grandmother died because of those things, and you don’t even care,” Tarah spat. “Maybe it was you they wanted all along, have you thought of that? Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t been born! Then maybe those fucking Reapers never would have come here, because _you_ pissed them off!”

“That’s enough!” Miranda snapped, grabbing Tarah’s arm and dragging her to the door before turning to the guard. “Escort her off the property and do not _ever_ let her near Shepard, am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Lawson,” the guard replied, already blocking Tarah from trying to yell into the room.

Miranda shut the door quickly to block out the rest of the noise. “Are you alright, Shepard?”

Her jaw was tense. Tarah hadn’t said anything she hadn’t already said to herself, but hearing it from another person was harder. The Collectors had said it, the Reaper on Rannoch had said it, the fucking Leviathan had said it: the Reapers saw her, personally, individually, as a threat. Harbinger left the fleet orbiting Earth to personally take her out when she was running for the Citadel beam.

What if her existence was a catalyst?

Twisted laughter echoed from her right, the Catalyst shimmering just out of her sight._ Isn’t that ironic?_

She still hadn’t told Miranda about the hallucinations, or her psychologist. They’d probably try to drug her, and the last thing she wanted was more medication in her system. The anti-rejection medications and IV shit she had to get were bad enough. She would endure.

‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Just can’t believe I’m related to someone like her.’

“Family,” Miranda agreed. “Ian should be here in the next week or two. I’ll make sure you can see him as soon as he arrives.”

Carrine nodded her thanks. He’d be a welcome reprieve from mess recovery was turning out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's listed as an essential employee in the middle of a global pandemic? this person, that's who! 
> 
> i'm dumping all of my stress on shepard because neither of us have healthy coping mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> It's been 84 years since I've posted anything rip. I have most of this written already, but it will be posted in chapters for pacing. I'm projecting A Lot onto my Shepard, so she's not really in for a fun time, but this was very cathartic to write. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it!


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